New location! The Gentlemen's Gold Club. Ooh, classy. Kima's parked outside, watching the door, when Prez comes out -- again in the windbreaker, unfortunately -- and climbs into the shotgun seat beside her. "Russians?" asks Kima, getting straight to the point. "Lotta girls," says Prez. "Pretty ones. Most of them had some kind of accent, anyway." Kima comments that Shardene's friend did a good job hooking them up, and asks Prez who's in charge. Prez enumerates "the club people," and an older-looking woman he saw go into the back room, not that he got close enough to have much to say about her: "She looks about forty." So, if she is from some currently impoverished former Soviet republic, that would make her...twenty-six? Kima: "So. Grab any ass, Prez?" Poor old Prez can't even joke about it, he looks so terrified at the mere question. And it's kind of a waste, because he's just the sort of innocent-looking doofus girls are always offering to throw a free lapdance to.
Daniels is on the front stoop of his house with Marla, telling her he's sorted things out for them. He says that when he was in Evidence Control, it made sense for him to quit: "But once Burrell reached out--" Marla interrupts to remind Daniels that he crossed Burrell, who isn't likely to forget: "Not to mention what he knows about you from the bad old days." OH MY GOD, WHAT?! I swear to god, the teasing about this reveal is KILLING ME. Marla crabs, "Fools half your age are gonna be Major and Colonel, and you'll still think that scratching out a case or two will save you." Daniels doesn't thank Marla for having his back on this, but spits that he knows his ascension through the ranks, if it happens, isn't going to be about casework. Marla smirks. Daniels tells Marla about getting called in to see Rawls, and asked to take the Jane Does, and how he refused: "If I'm looking out for number one, I'm gonna bring Burrell exactly what he asked for, and exactly what he needs to make Stan Valchek go away. No more, no less. I'm playing their game this time." Marla looks dubious. I'm telling you, she and Cheryl should just hook up. Marla would make a great mom!
Back at the port, Nat meets with Frank in the trailer, telling him that "we" can let Frank try to get the dredging project going: "But now, you're asking too much." "One more year, Nat," asks Frank jovially. "Not for me -- for the fucking union." Nat reminds him that the election has been scheduled, and that Frank knew when he won the previous year that it would be Ott's turn next. Frank says that Ott can just run next time, and serve the next two consecutive years. "It's our turn, Frank," says Nat firmly. "Black, white -- what's the difference, Nat?" asks Frank, as only a white guy can. "Until we get that fucking canal dredged, we're all niggers, pardon my French." "Or Polacks, pardon mine," Nat shoots back. Not that the two words are really of equal weight, but neither man seems offended by the other's slur, so...okay. Anyway, Frank says that this isn't about Ott: "I just want one more year to finish what I started here. One more year. Then Ott stays Secretary-Treasurer for the next two -- no problem." Nat frowns a bit, but Frank presses, "Think about it." Yeah, who doesn't like taking minutes through every meeting? Frank tries to smile ingratiatingly, but (per usual) he ends up looking gassy, and Nat gets up and walks out without another word. As he leaves, Frank calls DiBiago. Sure, let's resolve all these issues by bringing a wop all up in this bitch.